A3O-Lancaster Farming, Saturday, October 17, 1987
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Philosophy
Newton Bair
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The Trash Dump
There were two trash heaps on
the farm. One was very convenient
to the house, just beyond the old
woodshed in a grove of brambles
and scrub oak, where a deep gully
provided sufficient cover and
obscurity from the back porch.
“Out of sight-out of mind”, as
Mama used to say. That one was
only for the every day refuse that
would quickly decompose. The
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other one was a sink hole in a
remote part of the woodlot, far
from the farm buildings. Only the
more bulky and less bio
degradable trash ended up there.
The stuff that, long afterward, we
often regret having pitched.
Human progress demands that
some items be periodically
replaced. It’s the natural thing to
do, when wear and tear and time
makes an item obsolete. Papa
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didn’t bother to trade in the Jenny
Lind when he bought his first
Modcl-TFord. It was hauled to the
“dump”, and forgotten. When he
bought the second Fliver, the first
one sat behind the bam until a junk
dealer bought the motor and frame
for scrap. The rusted body was
loaded on the two-horse wagon
and hauled off to join the defunct
buggy.
So it was with the gaudy and
too-large picture frames, the sauer
kraut crocks, the old kerosene lan
tern and other “attica obscura”.
We can also include the once
prized leather driving harness, and
the old one-hole com sheller, and
hundreds of other outdated, but
still useable trivia. They’ve clut
tered the attic and bam floor long
enough, - let’s load ’em up and
haul ’em to the dump! Even their
replacements may have already
joined them in that deep gully back
in the woods. No matter, some
thing better, newer, more modem,
is available.
“Planned obsolesence” is a term
applied to today’s cars, TV’s, and
routine appliances. Changes in
body design, shape, color and
Annual
Percentage Rate
4.5
5.5
6.5
7.5
decor have little to do with func
tional qualities. The old one does
everything that a brand new model
will do, but we trade-in and update
anyway, simply to please
ourselves and stay even with
Brother Jones.
Unfortunately, most of the stuff
that we hauled to the dump will
have lost it’s value as a collectors
item by the time an Archeologist
digs it up. Rotting wood, rusting
iron, and broken glass are pretty
hard to resurrect. But the evidence
buried in that old sinkhole could
reveal a lot about the people who
owned it, and the times in which
they lived.
Wooden wheels, banded with
hand wrought iron tires worn thin
by the gravelly road. The wooden
Hounds that broke when Papa
turned the six-horse team too short
with a heavy load on the hay lad
ders. The old hand cranked wind
mill that we used to clean the seed
wheat. The double-tub wash
machine that was replaced with an
electric Maytag. The chopper-box,
scalding trough, and cedar tripods
and hand-carved gambrels, all
were hauled to their final resting
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place on the dump.
A few pieces of hand-wrought
iron have managed to avoid the
dump. A rough-lock, hitch pin, and
the strongbox, have survived from
the old Conestoga wagon we used
long ago. Some fancy hooks, a
bam door latch, a beautiful shutter
hook, hand-wrought bells, open
links, steelyards, “snell hooks”, a
pair of brass knobbed hames, and a
host of beautiful but utilitarian tri
via now grace our basement wall.
They survive as memoirs of a use
ful craft, only now appreciated as
works of art.
The dark recesses of attic and
cellar are the temporary limbo for
things too good for the dump, and
too bad for public display. It is
often left to the next generation to
rescue and love your junque.
Flea Markets, museums, and
Antique collectors are our modem
trash dumps. Nothing is complete
ly worthless these days. If it is over
fifty years old, put a price tag on it
and have a yard sale! Meanwhile, 1
think I’ll visit that old dump. It
may have some pleasant memo
ries, even if there aren’t any trea
sures to be found.
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Dclmar, DE 19940
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